


a gay playlist on repeat

by thewarlocksbitch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Likes Ronan Lynch, Alcohol, Drug Use, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Panic, Kissing, M/M, Ronan Lynch Has Feelings, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewarlocksbitch/pseuds/thewarlocksbitch
Summary: But Adam laughed, and Ronan had to drop his hand to know if he was imagining it. He was not. Adam sat down next to him, and, God, Ronan could count the space between them with grains of rice if he wanted to. He thought about moving. Closer. Away. He did not move.





	a gay playlist on repeat

based on this [playlist](https://thewarlocksbitch.tumblr.com/post/164799749028/sevenyearsdead-gay-playlist-concept-youre-in):

+

Ever since Gansey and Adam became friends, they started eating lunch together in the cafeteria. Which meant that Gansey did not eat with Ronan outside next to the Pig anymore. Which meant that, every week day for half an hour, Ronan sat next to Gansey and across from Adam Parrish in the midst of hundreds of other people he did not know.

This had been going on for weeks.

Ronan struggled with how he should categorize Adam in his mind in accordance to Gansey and the rest of the student body. He still didn't know Adam well, but he could see easily why Gansey was so taken by him: he was smart, thoughtful, quiet unlike the other boys, handsome in the way that forced you to notice.

Adam was - not that  _Gansey_  thought this - a bit of an asshole, too.

He had been looking at Ronan, all throughout lunch. The smallest of glances, so quick they would have gone unnoticed had Ronan not already been looking. Ronan felt hot, nervous. He couldn't get his pudding cup open. He couldn't tune out the soft, unending roll of Adam’s Henrietta accent as he and Gansey discussed cars.

He didn't know what Adam was playing at. _If_  he was playing at all. Ronan chanced another glance towards him. Their gazes met, for just a moment, before Ronan redirected his attention to his pudding cup. He did not think Adam was the type to play games.

Finally the bell rang and lunch was over. Gansey shoveled the rest of his soup into his mouth. Adam quietly ate the last bite of his sandwich. Ronan tried one last time to open his pudding cup.

Adam stood. “Want to walk with me?” he asked Ronan.

Ronan grabbed his bag. Gansey smiled at him over his shoulder in an approving way. Ronan smiled thinly back. He never did get that pudding cup open.

+

Ronan had promised he wouldn't go to Kavinsky. But no matter how much Gansey pleaded, it hadn't been enough to keep him in the apartment.

He curled his fingers over the wheel of the BMW. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. He drove to the dark outskirts of town and sped for a while. Pulled up to a house full of red-eyed Aglionby boys and terrible rap music. Bought some weed. Got thirsty from the anger and the fear and the adrenaline and the he-didn't-fucking-know-what.

He drove himself to the nearest gas station, just on the edge of Henrietta, and bought a pack of beer with his fake ID. This, he thought, was not a good idea. Gansey had many times lectured him on the dangers of cross-fading. But Gansey was not here.

Ronan sat down on the curb near the still hot BMW, lit the blunt, and took that first hot drag. He breathed out, and it occurred to him that he might get caught. He laughed at the thought of someone seeing and calling the police - or Gansey - depending on the person.

He took another drag, and another, and another.

A shadow fell over Ronan. He looked up to see who it was and to tell them to fuck off. Adam gazed back at him, his eyes squinted against the harsh overhead lights.

Ronan waited for Adam to disappear or to turn into someone else. When he didn't, Ronan laughed and covered his eyes. “I guess I'm higher than I thought,” he said. “What are  _you_  doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Adam said, his voice tentative. Ronan dropped his hand to watch as Adam leaned his bike against the wall behind them. “Can I join?”

Ronan stared at him. He stared for too long, but he let himself. He was high, he reasoned with himself. He wasn't in his right mind. He was allowed this.

There was a smudge of grease on Adam’s cheek. Ronan thought about wiping it off with his thumb. He thought about licking it off. He thought about Adam sitting beside him in the BMW at night.

Ronan couldn't look away from that smudge of grease.  _Because he's a mechanic,_  he remembered. That's how he and Gansey had met in the first place. How this all had started.

“Ronan?” Adam said.

“No,” Ronan said automatically, instinctively. He covered his eyes again, not wanting to see the anger on Adam’s face that would definitely show.  _Fuck._ Would he ever do anything that he didn't immediately hate himself for?

But Adam laughed, and Ronan had to drop his hand to know if he was imagining it. He was not. Adam sat down next to him, and, God, Ronan could count the space between them with grains of rice if he wanted to. He thought about moving. Closer. Away. He did not move.

Adam took the blunt from Ronan, slow and cautious despite his attempt to seem relaxed. Noticeably nervous even through Ronan’s current mental state. Ronan watched Adam lift it up to his lips. He wanted to watch his face, _his mouth,_  but his attention caught on his hands and would not be swayed.

Adam’s hands were often the objects of Ronan’s daydreams. They were large, jutting out from his thin wrists almost ridiculously, with long, thin fingers and raw, chapped knuckles. Hands that looked good when raised to answer a question, hands that looked good holding a blunt, hands that Ronan wanted to press to his mouth.

Ronan watched a tendon in Adam’s thumb flicker as he figured out how to best hold the blunt. He counted the freckles across the back of Adam’s hand as Adam took a drag.

Ronan finally managed to look up at Adam’s face. It was red. “Have you ever smoked before?” he asked.

“Yes,” Adam coughed out.

“Bull _shit_ ,” Ronan said, and Adam flushed darker. Ronan added in a rush, “You gotta get it in your lungs for it to really work.”

Adam eyed him, the blunt halfway to his lips. “Like…?” he asked.

“Breathe it in hard,” Ronan said. “Then breathe in hard through your nose. And hold it.”

Adam went cross-eyed as he looked at the blunt. He breathed in hard, the tip glowing red, and looked up at the sky. His chest hiccuped under his thin t-shirt as he breathed in through his nose.

Ronan looked at him, not caring if Adam noticed, not caring if he cared. The benefits of watching Adam breathe out and smile and look back at Ronan with excited eyes greatly outweighed the possible consequences.

Adam looked at Ronan as he took another drag. His cheeks puffed out, and his fair brows furrowed in concentration. Normally, Ronan would get angry at such an expression, but all he could think now was, _fuck, he's cute._

“In your  _lungs_ ,” Ronan said.

Adam made a terrible noise that was somewhere between choking and laughing. He lifted his arm to cover his mouth, polite even when he couldn't breathe. Ronan almost wished Gansey were there to see it.

Because Ronan was high, because he felt too good to be scared, he put a hand on the back of Adam’s neck, right where his t-shirt gaped away to expose dark, freckled skin. Adam’s skin was warm beneath his palm, and a little tacky with sweat. He was helping Adam to breathe better, he told himself. He was keeping him steady.

Adam stopped coughing. He leaned towards Ronan. His shoulder brushed the inside of Ronan’s arm. Their knees knocked together. Ronan couldn't tell if it was accidental.

He knew, though, that this was not an accident: he pushed the tips of his fingers into Adam’s dusty, unevenly cropped hair. Adam took another drag. He breathed out, slow, and leaned more completely against Ronan.

“Feel good?” Ronan asked. He could feel his heartbeat in his teeth.

“Yeah,” Adam said, after a moment. “Really good.”

+

Ronan was not jealous. He was not jealous, or angry, but _fuck_  Gansey for bringing him to this party and then leaving him.  _Make friends,_  Gansey had said.  _Go find Adam._

Ronan did not want to make friends. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to find Adam, either. He doubted Adam would even be here; he had told Gansey he would try to come after work, but this was a party full of rich Aglionby boys in button-up shirts and loose ties, and Adam, Ronan knew, was not inclined to spend his free time with boys of this genre. Ronan thought it surprising enough that he was friends with Gansey.

He sat down and smoked with some kid from Latin. He looked around for Gansey, pathetically. “ _Jesus,_ ” the kid said at Ronan’s lost expression, “ _you that fucked up already?_ ”

Ronan did not reply. He wasn't even that high. He took the blunt from the kids unresisting fingers and got up from the plastic-covered couch.

He made his way to the kitchen. Without Gansey at his side, he was an unknown creature here. He was feared and friendless and without purpose or a sense of belonging.

He wished he knew where Gansey had gone. He wished he could leave.

But he couldn't. He could steal vodka though, or beer, or whatever these kids liked to get drunk off of, and go drink alone on the porch. And that was almost as good as going home.

Ronan found the kitchen. And he froze. Because Adam was standing at the counter, alone, leaning over a cooler of beer like its contents confused him.

God, he looked good, and Ronan wasn't high enough to be imagining it. He was flushed in the face and down his neck, his hair a mess, a smear of oil or maybe dirt on his nose. He was wearing overalls rolled down to his waist and sneakers with stained, torn soles, and he looked better like that than he did in his Aglionby uniform.

Ronan wondered if he'd taste like grease.

Now he really needed something to drink, he really did. But that would mean walking up to Adam and asking him to move over or, God, getting close enough to reach over him. Both courses of action would feel amazing. Both would ruin Ronan.

He watched Adam as he carefully selected a beer, then lifted the hem of his t-shirt to twist the cap off. His stomach was paler than his face and arms.

Ronan thought again about walking up to Adam. It would so be worth it.

But no, no. He couldn't. He raised the blunt to his lips and took a drag, leaving these few seconds to chance, letting the possibility of Adam looking up and seeing him standing there play out. He held the smoke in his lungs. Adam stared down at his beer. Ronan breathed out. He turned around.

He walked back through the crowd, out through the back door and into the cool Henrietta night. The porch was completely bare. Probably the chairs and flower pots and family heirlooms had been moved to a safer place before the party.

Ronan sat down on the first step. He thought about texting Gansey, then remembered that he'd left his phone in the car.

He was halfway through the blunt when the door slid open behind him. Music and laughter poured out for a half-second. Then it was quiet again. Adam sat down on the step beside Ronan. He put his undrunk beer down beside his feet.

Ronan looked at him. Adam held out his hand, palm up. It took Ronan a moment to realize what he was asking. He gave Adam the blunt. He let his fingers brush Adam’s wrist as he withdrew.

He would not feel guilty for this.

Adam breathed in smoke, his head tipped back, eyes closed, and Ronan couldn't keep himself from thinking that this was like an indirect kiss, that his mouth had been where Adam’s mouth currently was. God, Adam looked good. Ronan wanted to kiss him for real. He wanted to breathe him in. He wanted to swallow him whole.

Ronan had to say something. He had to.

Adam looked at him, and this time he didn't cover his mouth when he breathed out. Ronan closed his eyes as warm smoke and air hit his face. He heard Adam shift, and then Adam’s long, cool fingers were reaching to cup his cheek. It was unbelievable that Adam was touching him like this, but Ronan had stared at his hands enough that he had a good idea of what they would feel like, and it was this.

He did not open his eyes.

When Adam kissed him, he did not taste like grease. He didn't taste like much at all, but he was warm and wet and close. Ronan's heart stopped immediately and he did not worry that he couldn't breathe; he did not worry that Adam might regret this later; he didn't worry at all.

He scooted closer to Adam, close enough that he could feel his body heat. He slid his hand up into Adam’s hair. Adam’s hand tightened on the back of his neck. Ronan breathed him in, pulled him in hard enough that he thought their lips might bruise.

Adam gasped into his mouth, and Ronan thought he might die just from that. He was overwhelmed with excitement, dizzy with fear, with anticipation. Adam made a soft, pleasant sort of sound and bit down on his lip, and adrenaline exploded into Ronan’s veins. He tightened his grip in Adam’s hair. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew he didn't want to stop.

Ronan lifted his other hand to cup Adam’s face. He never wanted to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [chloe](http://lieutenantriza.tumblr.com/) for beta editing! 
> 
> and thanks so much for reading!!! i hope you liked it :) please leave kudos/comment if you did - feedback of any kind is crazy appreciated. it keeps me alive, i swear 
> 
> find me on[ tumblr](http://thewarlocksbitch.tumblr.com)!!! my [ask box](https://thewarlocksbitch.tumblr.com/ask) is always open (for prompts and anything else!)


End file.
